That Black Jacket
by Rurple101
Summary: Companion piece/ One-shot to my 'That Black Dress' one-shot. Spoilers for BBC's The Silkworm - Part Two. Robin's thoughts on the evening at the Roper Chard party.


**That Black Jacket** **  
** _By Rurple101_

* * *

 **This is a companion piece to my other one-shot 'That Black Dress' which precedes this one-shot, which focuses more on Strike's POV.**

* * *

Robin Ellacott acknowledged the fact that she wasn't an unattractive girl.

She knew she wasn't ugly but would never take time in telling people or even noticing her own appearance.

Like most women she prided her looks so that her she was satisfied that she was clean, didn't have bad breath, and made sure her hair wasn't a mess before she left the house each morning for work.

Even if she did turn up and she was scruffy on entrance, she knew Strike wouldn't remark upon her appearance unless he was worried she wasn't herself.

But when she had turned up at the office, dressed in an old but favourite dress of hers, she'd seen the way his eyes had looked her up and down, maybe unconsciously. Just recalling the way his eyes had raked her long legs, her tight dress and exposed shoulders sent a shiver down her spine.

Robin always ignored the catcalls and wolf whistles every morning as she navigated down Tottenham Court Road by the builders and contractors who worked there. She was used, and even exasperated, by some men who unconsciously addressed her chest rather than her face when they spoke to her. She dressed quite modestly and covered up her skin most of the time.

It wasn't often that she dressed herself with the effort to impress.

Mathew had retired to bed after she'd found his ironing, and she had explained in the merest detail that she had to dress up for the event.

"Cormoran thinks a suspect will be there and he's been trying to get a chance to ask him questions" she explained as she combed her hair into its stylish hairdo.

She didn't put on too much makeup or make too much effort into her look; Mathew would only think she was dressing up for Strike.

"You look hot" Mathew said as she kissed him goodnight. " _So_ sexy."

There had been something possessive in the way he had kissed her, something she hadn't liked particularly.

He was eyeing her hungrily and whilst she smiled at the familiar look, it didn't stir feelings of lust or love as it normally did. She put it down to being in her work mode and knowing she had a job to do, a role to perform.

She had also felt a fleeting feeling of disappointment; was she only capable of being _sexy_?

Sure, it was nice to be attracted to someone physically, but Mathew rarely called her _beautiful_ or _stunning_. It didn't seem the right way for him to address her, which was trivial but it saddened her anyway. It gave the impression to others, that he only desired her body, rather than her as a package.

However, when she had stepped over her work threshold, and spotted Strike half-frozen in the gesture of putting on his suit jacket, she had been pleasantly shocked and thrilled that he wasn't looking at her body.

She felt like he was looking into her soul.

She waved it off as fanciful; why would Strike fancy _her_? She was his partner, and he had had lovers far more attractive than her.

She herself had met (albeit briefly) and spoken to Charlotte Campbell, a woman he had been with for years. Now Charlotte was beautiful, more beautiful than Robin could ever dare to hope to be. She'd had a daring, maybe sexy voice on the phone but that might've been Robin's wishful imagination.

Strike had been flustered and taken off-guard by her efforts. For a moment she was anxious that she had gone overboard, and dressed up too much.

But then he had paused on the way out.

"You look… absolutely _beautiful_ " Strike had told her, his tone sincere and quiet, low and tender. For some pleasure she couldn't explain she was empowered to see that he too, was blushing.

She'd been astounded; Cormoran Strike _blushing_?

She almost wanted to laugh at it, but she had caught his compelling gaze, and knew that the air was thick, thick with the electric chemistry that secured their trusting friendship.

She felt her own cheeks flush and Strike had winked again and helped her outside.

* * *

When they had arrived at the party she noticed a few other admiring looks from other men, but she had almost deliberately tried to notice the sidelong glances that Strike was giving her. He was passing them off as friendly smiles, but there was something in his eyes that wasn't completely platonic. She almost guessed that he didn't want to address it, even to himself, and Robin felt the same; things were easier and safer that way.

She almost guessed that he didn't want to address it, even to himself, and Robin felt the same; things were easier and safer that way.

When he'd lit up his first cigarette she felt a cold breeze settle over them. The party was being held on some kind of boat or jetty on the Thames. There was a beautiful view of the Shard in the distance and the blue lights sparkling off the reflection of the deep dark water.

Another breeze and Robin felt some of her elation drain away; why hadn't she brought a coat or a jacket? She was often so practical and organised and she felt like she was letting herself down.

"When's Mathew back?" came Strike's gentle voice from beside her. She saw he was trying to angle his smoking cigarette away from her, so the breeze was blowing the smell away from her, instead of over her.

He was always so considerate towards her.

"Oh, he's back already" she replied, smiling sheepishly, unconsciously rubbing her hands together. She couldn't stop her teeth chattering slightly.

Strike looked at her, nodded as he heard her answer and then looked around. "A party where I can smoke" he said happily.

She chuckled at his words but another slight breeze ruffled past her, raising goose bumps on her bare shoulders and back. She looked away from Strike, hoping he hadn't noticed.

 _No such luck_ , she thought as he looked at her, almost calculatingly. _He's a detective for a reason, Robin._

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Strike shrug out of his neatly pressed black suit jacket, cigarette in his mouth as he released both his arms. He then stepped closer and draped the smooth material over her shoulders which enveloped her in his body heat, and she smiled guiltily.

"Oh, thank you" she said, blushing once more. She cleared her throat self-consciously and said "Should've brought a cardigan."

He scowled playffuly at her, cigarette conveniently still in his mouth so he couldn't speak aloud.

She unconsciously inhaled deeply, holding the smooth material of the jacket closer to her cold body. His jacket smelled amazing.

She'd worn Mathew's jackets before, as all girlfriends had, especially as a teenager. To wear a particle of clothing of the one you loved made you feel closer to them on a more intimate level than any kiss or embrace.

Realizing this did not make Robin feel guilty, however.

She could smell Strike's unique scent which was a combination of fresh tobacco smoke and some kind of aftershave. He didn't normally wear any perfume or scent as she would've noticed it beforehand. As this was a formal event, she supposed it was his way of dressing himself up.

The fact that she could smell Strike gave Robin the dawning apprehension that Strike was a man, and not just her boss or partner. He was a physical man who had taken her under his wing, offered her a job (however poorly paid) and was more considerate and thoughtful that Mathew had been in years.

Mathew often didn't see the subtle signs of unease or awkwardness she gave that Strike easily picked up on. She supposed it was some kind of occupational hazard that you could pick up people's body language at the drop of a hat.

Strike was still looking sideways at her, his build looking slightly thinner than normal due to the absence of his black jacket.

"Aren't you cold?" she asked him.

He grinned and withdrew his cigarette. "I'm got a figure to die for Robin, I'm fortunate enough that it keeps me warm."

He sounded arrogant to passers-by, but she heard the sarcasm in his voice and she giggled. His eyes lit up at the sound of her mirth and again, she was treated to the intense burning look of extreme tenderness that she had seen often of late by her partner.

"Beside,s" he said, inhaling another drag on his cigarette. "You need it more than me. You keep that as long as you need."

"I think it's a bit too big for me" she said teasingly.

He pretended to look affronted. "Are you calling me _fat_?"

There was a second of stillness before both of them laughed.

"You've got broader shoulders than me" she explained, still chuckling.

He rolled his eyes. "You're not getting yourself outta this hole that easily Robin."

He pretended to look stern but his grin got them both laughing again.

* * *

It wasn't long after that there was silence called for and Daniel Chard did a stilted speech. When Andrew Fancourt himself appeared both she Strike exchanged an intrigued look.

She slid closer to Strike and touched his free wrist slightly to get his attention. "I have an idea" she whispered as the noise broke out again after the speeches were done. "But I think you'll want your jacket back for it."

 _Very_ reluctantly, she drew off the jacket and gave it back to him. He'd finished his cigarette and looked inquisitively at her.

"What are you plotting Miss Ellacott?" he asked in an undertone to her once his jacket was back on his own shoulders. It now smelt of Robin's perfume, and it was making his restraints on his feelings loosen.

Robin leant in and explained quickly in his ear.

Strike could not deny that he liked her closeness, enjoyed the soft thrumming of his heartbeat as it sensed her close enough to hold her to him.

He had followed her plan and walked a short distance away, looking across at the Thames, waiting.

Robin had acted her part very well. She knew that wearing a striking dress as hers was bound to gain the right attention and she managed to hook Andrew Fancourt in very easily. He took the bait and she lead him across the platform to Strike, who she could tell, looked pleased at her work.

But when the writer had addressed her as "bait" Robin had felt slightly insulted. There was something vaguely offensive about his sneering manner.

Robin had also felt annoyed when Fancourt had proceeded to ask Strike if "you attract troubled women or if they become troubled after being with you."

How dare he.

 _Arrogant dickhead_ , Robin thought fiercely, rattled at the cutting way he tried to unseat Strike.

When he had finished speaking with them and he walked away, Robin scoffed angrily.

Strike turned to her, clearly amused. "What's the matter?"

Robin scowled at the retreating writer's back, saying nothing.

"I appreciate you dressing up" Strike said softly in her ear. "Really I do. But don't take offense at it. You really do look stunning tonight."

Robin blushed again, secretly pleased that he thought she was capable of being beautiful, something that Mathew had rarely called her.

"It's not that" she said defensively, still glaring at away. "I didn't like the way he spoke to you."

"That was polite compared to some" Strike said bracingly and she looked up at him.

He saw her outrage on his behalf and he felt deeply touched.

"Charlotte is getting married, and I was already aware of the fact" he said heavily. "She's a disease that I have to get rid of, but the hold she has on me still makes itself known occasionally. All part and parcel of life Robin."

Robin only nodded sadly, feeling the need to hug him, even if it would look suspicious to others.

 _That Black Jacket,_ she thought, inhaling the delicious smell of Strike's aftershave that she'd noticed on the fabric of the jacket earlier.

It was drawing her in.

Throwing some caution to the winds, she drew nearer subtly and took his free hand in hers and squeezed it reassuringly, rubbing her thumb over his hairy skin.

 _I'm here for you,_ is what she tried to say without words.

He squeezed her hand back, albeit after a hesitant pause.

 _I know,_ he thought as he looked at her face.

 _I don't bloody deserve you_ , he finished mentally in his head, long after she had looked away from him.

* * *

 **Author's Note** **: I think I might do ANOTHER companion piece to this, which will be more of a "** ** _What if they…?"_**

 **Apologies if this was too Mary-Sue –ish of Strike but I wanted to make it fluffy. Strike, in the books, makes it his goal to NOT compliment her figure or discussing Charlotte in too much detail. BUT WHO CARES?**

 **Enjoy!**


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